


Flight of the Silverbird

by Assasymphonie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dancer class, Gen, I love dancer Felix okay, Male My Unit | Byleth, One Shot, White Heron Cup, dancer felix, hints of sylvix if you squint a little bit, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22129951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Assasymphonie/pseuds/Assasymphonie
Summary: “By the way, I will not accept a refusal, Felix.” Byleth’s voice is calm and quiet as usual, his deadpan expression fixated on his student who is clenching fists slowly, trying to chew an answer before the sunset.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & My Unit | Byleth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Kudos: 56





	Flight of the Silverbird

Usually it’s hard to steal words from Felix’s mouth, expecially when they’re insults or bad in any shape or form. That said, Byleth feels a boost to his ego when, in front of his very eyes, stands a Felix in loss of words or facial expressions beside his mouth agape and eyes larger than a coin.

“By the way, I will not accept a refusal, Felix.” Byleth’s voice is calm and quiet as usual, his deadpan expression fixated on his student who is clenching fists slowly, trying to chew an answer before the sunset. 

The thing is, the White Heron Cup is right around the corner and the three professors in charge had to choose someone from their house to represent it. The other choices were pretty much on spot, since Manuela picked Dorothea -the winner on paper, basically- and Hannemann picked Hilda, with much of Claude’s amusement.  
For the Blue Lions, Dimitri would have been a much wiser choice since he’s already good in dancing and those… stuff. But, instead, the one who’s being chosen is Felix.

Known, as Sylvain likes to remember every time, as the tree trunk of Faerghus.

“I…” Felix tries to speak, words stucked into his throat while he’s staring right into Byleth’s eyes. This has to be a nightmare, maybe the professor is talking to someone behind him or maybe he lost his mind completely, that would be perfect. But the steadyness of those deep violet eyes is saying something different and a shiver runs in Felix’s veins at the sole thought of dancing in front of everyone, in front of Sylvain who always bugged him about that…  
“What the f- Professor, please, I’m not- I can’t dance for the life of me! If you want it so badly okay but be ready to lose you know? I don’t want to dance and-“  
“I’m pretty sure you will be perfect, Felix. After lunch I’ll be waiting for you at the greenhouse. Don’t be late.”  
A smirk of amusement finds its way on Byleth lips before he turns and walks away, leaving Felix all alone, his swords comically on the ground and ears fiery red against the dark of his hair.

“… I hate my life.”

____

The news ran into the monastery like a small, little mouse, and by lunch everyone knew already that Felix was chosen to be the Blue Lions’ champion.  
A lot of the students don’t have the guts to say something out loud, so they whispers between little groups while Felix is walking with his poor fish in the plate and the most grumpy face on the earth plastered on his. The moment he sits at the table, however, is much worse than the walk of shame he just did.

“Ehy Fe, so it’s true that you, of all people, will dance?! I need to see you, I’ll be in the first seats!” Of course it has to be Sylvain, and of course he mocks him, throwing an arm over his shoulders even if Ingrid almost begs him to leave Felix alone.  
But this time Felix doesn’t bite back at the redhead, he’s strangerly quiet while he’s pocking the fish with a fork. His stomach is a huge knot and all he wants to do is to throw himself at a sword to not think about what is going to happen in half an hour.  
His behaviour his so foreign that even Sylvain understands, his lips in a tight line as Dimitri’s.  
“… Felix, you don’t need to do it, you know? It’s okay anyway, I’m sure the Professor will understand.”

Felix know that Sylvain is right, for once. He doesn’t have to do it if he really doesn’t want, it’s just a stupid competition and it’s not even useful for training. But, at the same time, Felix Hugo Fraldarius is known to not retreat or surrender, never. He raises his eyes just to meet Dimitri’s ones, full of- is that pity?  
Oh hell no.  
Not from him.  
“I’ll do it.” Felix says, this time while stabbing the fish with all his might. One day, his pride will be the death of him.

________

“So.”

Right beneath the greenhouse, in a large patch of grass impossible to see from almost every place near it, Byleth is staring at a very angry Felix, covered by a large cape which is almost touching the ground. It’s right an hour after lunch, so no one is out yet for the afternoon training sessions, and just that is making Felix feels a little bit less shitty. Just a little bit.

“Hilda and Dorothea will do a traditional waltzer, Claude told me. I didn’t pick you for that, as you saw from the… outfit.”  
Felix scowls, quick fingers working on the claps of the cape. The thing falls on the ground, revealing a flowy, blue and silver, outfit? Something? Felix didn’t know for sure when he saw a small little package right under his door.  
The fabric is probably silk, tight at the waist and loose on the hips and legs, making waves with every movement. A tank top of the same deep blue fabric is covering Felix’s torso, but the sleeves are the most sheer fabric he has ever seen in his life, catching the light in the most unusual way while caressing Felix’s arms skin tight. With all of that, a silver belt at the waist emphasizes the natural body shape of the swordsman, but the true star of the show is the dancer skirt.

Thank the Goddess he has skin tight pants under it.

“Yeah, I saw it, Professor. So, what in the hell I must do?” He’s not feeling at ease with those garments: the top is okay, by far the most comfortable thing in that fever dream, but the gown is definitely embarassing. Warriors doesn’t need skirts, and expecially him.  
“I told you, if I’m not going to like it, I’ll leave it to the Boar.”

Byleth, without losing his stern face, shakes his head slowly, while picking something off the ground. It’s a sword, a beautiful silver sword with golden details and a gem in the handle. A piece of craftmanship, probably made for the occasion, the hilt with the same deep blue as the outfit and the blade -a bastard one, Felix’s favourite- polished to perfection.  
Felix’s eyes are even wider now, running over the blade like it’s a beautiful woman or man.  
“I saw this in the market a week ago. And I immediately thought about something I saw with father, while we were traveling.” Byleth pauses, looking for Felix’s face, a even so small smirk blooming on his features.  
He knows he has the other in the palm of his hand.  
“It’s a sword dance from Dagda.”

______

Literally everyone is pressed in the main salon, ready to see the Heron Cup, placing bets here and there. Voices fill the walls, and Alois is forced to almost scream to overcome the excitement of all the students. He, among Manuela and Shamir, is both judge and announcer, calling the names of the contestants with clear voice.

Dorothea is first; she, even if in her school uniform, is grace upon them, with a charming smile on her full lips and movements close to perfection; Hilda, instead, is quicksilver in human form, gracing the ground with quick and easy steps. They’re beautiful tho and everyone cheer at them… except Felix.  
He is sitting in the other room, tapping with his bare foot against the floor, his arms crossed against his chest. Byleth forced him to have his hair in a loose ponytail and he’s well aware that right now is less Felix than ever. That beautiful sword is unsheated on his tighs, an ungraceful scowl on his face to finish the paint.

“I hate this.” He mumbles, right in the moment when he heads Alois shouts his name.  
Felix is sure, that voice which is cheering so loud is Sylvain’s for sure, life be damned.  
The fabric shifts when he stands up from the chair, his heart literally a drum under the light layer of silk; this is so out of his comfort zone and, at the same time, right up his alley. When Byleth explained that strange dance to him, all that Felix saw were the similarities with his own sword’s fighting. Quick, swift, almost without touching the ground, feet light as feathers and dancing sword, lethal and precise under the beautiful movements of his own hands.

With that in mind, Felix enters into the room, watched by so many pairs of eyes he can’t even begin to count them. Without saying a word, he just kneels down with the sword right in front of him. He breaths, in and out, a couple of times, eyes closed; and then, the music started.

He feels like water. Inconsistent, weightless, right in the moment he picked up the sword and rolled it into his hands. The gown, being light as it is, follows Felix movements like a long fish tail.  
He bends, rotates, making of all them a single, long movement, the loose ponytail long forgotten: silky strands of indigo hair are framing his face to perfection and the sheerness of the fabric is making his muscles, defined and elegant, perfectly visible with every movements.  
Every time his feet lands on the floor no sound lingers in the air, just the swift rustling of the fabric and the clear, silver sound of the blade cutting the air.

Felix is feeling in his element for sure, since a serene expression is painted on his face, eyes closed and lips slightly curved upward in a ghost of a smile.  
Without the heavyness of the armour and the thightness of the battle clothes, he feels like air; every hour spent in the training grounds was almost for this only moment, when he’s feeling like he’s the sword and the sword is him.  
Another weightless jump, another twist of the wrist beneath his shoulders with the coldness of the silver against his skin and for once he’s feeling like himself from years ago.

Like every single good thing tho, even that sensation has an end, in the form of Felix’s back arched back, right leg pressed on the floor in a kneeling position and the blade, held by his arms in the air, pointed towards his bare throat.  
His chest is rising quickly, every single muscle in his body is screaming with pain, but he really doesn’t care.  
He almost doesn’t ear the shower of applause, Sylvain’s voice saying something like _‘I knew you had it in you man, God you’re so beautiful Fe I just’_ , Dimitri’s hums of appreciation and Annette’s squeakings.  
He just pays attention to Byleth’s little smile, and Felix understands now.

Byleth made him a silverbird.  
Made him free.

**Author's Note:**

> The dance I choose for Felix is highly inspired by the korean traditional dance called Geommu: I find it so BEAUTIFUL I had to Im not sorry at all Felix  
> Hope you like it tho! English is not my first language so pls don't be harsh on me I'm baby


End file.
